Why England will not trust
by Froggiecool
Summary: A quick look back through history. From wars, to ruling the world to today, but always alone. A one-shot for St. George's day although written before then . Historically based, but possibly some inaccuracies. Pairing: nothing that can't be friendship


**A.N. So... I was trying to write something I was happy with, failing misrably, and found this on my hard-drive from... Well, I haven't baby-sat fo the girl in question since last October, so that's how long ago this is. Tydied it up a bit, and here it is. It's not... Good. But it's better than anything else I have. And sorry if some's a bit rambley. I wrote this whilst baby-sitting, and edited it in the wee hours of the morning. It starts off chronological, but... Well, some of the later events go ontop of each other. And, many important events (like the Peasent's Revolt, and the Gunpowder plot) are missing, and yet seemingly insignificant events are here...  
But, other than that, enjoy!**

**I make no claim to owning history, or any character mentioned, other than Catuvellauni and Icceni. (And I don't actually own the tribes, either).**

* * *

The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. The name was water-marked into the paper, which a blonde man was quickly writing on. His hand was neat, yet spider-like. As he signed the papers, his mind wandered into the ancient, lost history of his nation.

Pre-Roman

Long, long ago, Celts ruled the land of England. They had taken over where pre-historic man left off, and organised themselves into tribes. Some tribes liked each other, others didn't – they were like separate nations really, each with their own representative. The boy now known as England, at the time, guarded the tribe of the Brigantines. There were many others – Icceni, Catuvellauni to name but a few. Those to the East were more Continental, but all were similar. And everyone believed in the fae.

And they all loved in semi-harmony, with Scotland, Wales and Ireland being just like them.

The Romans

The first contact with the Romans was in 54BC, when raids took place. They continued for a few years, and then nothing more was heard.  
England remembers the early raids well. Catuvellauni, one of the Eastern tribes – pretty Cat, one eye blue, one eye green, brown haired, boots and hairbands – would come running all the way to his home. She would never cry, but rather come and 'ensure that he was alright'. England could see her fear, though. She taught him to weave, to sew clothes, to make beautiful textiles, when he was young. Really, she taught him everything he knew – most of what he knows – how to survive in a world that wants you dead (her advice – never let them know what you feel. Stiff upper lip, and drown it in alcohol. He likes beer, she liked cider. Germany likes beer. France likes wine – cider is wine made from apples. Was she French? Her sister was French. Two women, same name. But French Cat's eye's weren't pretty. Not like sister Cat's). She was probably the closest thing he ever had to a parent, but the age difference could be counted in months and days - just, she was bigger, had grown quicker - learnt quicker. They, and the other tribes, taught each other magic, and war craft, how to fight… They shared tales of other worlds – of gods and goddesses and heroes; heroines.

In the first century AD, the Romans took the entire country. The upper limit of their reach marked by Hadrian's Wall, the Western by the sea. England remembers Rome well – a handsome, scarred, fearsome man. His grandson was friendly enough – one of them anyway – but the man threatened to do all manner of things if the child did not obey.  
Some tribes would not stand for Roman rule. Icceni's king was killed, and his wife took over the tribe. She, Boudicca, caused great trouble for the Romans – burnt their cities, and killed their men. When the Romans defeated her, she and her daughters killed themselves, rather than be used by the Rome in the way he would use a woman. Icceni disappeared the day that she died.

Catuvellauni, when the Romans came for her, killing her queen, ran to him for help. He was barely a child, and she barely a teen, yet she knelt on her knees and begged for his assistance – for him to protect her. Just as her widower king did to his widow queen.  
But he refused. Rome was just too big, and he handed over the female. He was forced to watch as Rome had his way with Catuvellauni, and killed her before his eyes. And England could not believe what he had done – she had wanted help, and he had her killed for it. He knew Rome would do nasty things to her… But he was apologising… Apologising so much… And she had smiled as she died 'as long as little one is safe'. England cried. Rome named him Britannia, just as he had once called Cat. He was never cruel to the boy-nation, but England would never forgive him.

It was then that England learnt never to trust anyone – not even himself.

The Angles, Jutes and Saxons

When the Romans left in around the 5th century, the country now known as England was attacked by the Vikings (Danes). They appealed to the German tribes of Angles, Jutes and Saxons for help. They came to help, but refused to leave.  
And really, they're still here. Just like the Romans, the French, the Dutch, and the rest of the world…

It was King Arthur who, legend states, re-united the country after the Romans left; bought it out of the dark ages. (He was not great, though. No. The only Great king of England was Alfred-who-burnt-the-cakes the Great.)

And it was then that people started to take interest in him. When he knocked for help from Scotland, he was shot at. Same with Ireland… And, the other tribes handed their powers over to Britannia – England, now (land of the Angles – that's where his name comes from) – and then disappeared.

England never saw them again.

Viking

England was just getting used to the new tribes, new names – East Anglia, Kent, Mercia, and he himself Wessex – and this new religion of Christianity. He had to wonder sometimes – Cadveani's land was the first to be taken by the Germanic peoples, the first to receive this new 'Christianity'.

And the first to be taken by the Vikings. They couldn't survive themselves anymore – even Alfred, Alfred-who-burnt-the-cakes – Alfred the great - could not hold them forever; even he grew old and faded into myth.

And they'd taken HER land again. Danelaw it was now called. The black eyed man who guarded it scared him… Scared him so much.

Everybody dies someday.

1066

1066. He remembered it well. He had still barely been more than a boy, and yet there he stood. King Edward was dead, and Harold held the throne. An invasion was expected both from Harold Haldrada, expected to land in the North, and William of Normandy to the South. Being much closer than Denmark, the attack from Normandy was expected first.  
But they hadn't counted on the storms.

England remembered standing with his king that day, when a messenger ran up to them, bringing news from up north. Within twenty four hours, the entire English army had made it to the north coast, where Haldrada was confronted. At the battle of Standford Bridge, the Viking was defeated.

Without time to rest their armies, Normandy was attacking. By the time they returned made it to the South again, he had landed. With an exhausted, non-professional army, fresh from battle and travel, England made his stand at Hastings. It was not long before his men lay slaughtered on the battlefield, and king lay dead on the soil.

"Bonjour, mon petite lapin," a smug face smiled at the boy, "Starting today, you will be my servant."  
England fled as fast as his child-legs would carry him.

Of course, no child, no matter how scared, can run forever. Especially not a nation with no leader; whose capital had been taken. And it was not long after that that the blonde Frenchman came upon him, finding him with Hereward the Wake, in the fens of East Anglia.  
"Mon petite lapin is scared, non?" the slightly older male smirked.  
"I'm not scared of you, you… Frog-face!" the boy shouted, backing into the reeds.  
"Well then, you'll come home to your big brother, non?"  
"Get lost, Frenchie."  
"Well that's no way to speak to your new boss."  
"W-What?" England's eyes widened.  
"Has nobody told little England? Oh woe, woe is he…" France grinned, "My boss is now your boss, and I am in-charge. So stand up and bow before me, and then we'll see about those tacky clothes you're wearing."

It would be hundreds of years before England would be able to see his friends, his people – speak his language – again. And thousands more before they stopped calling him 'mother England'.

The Anarchy – (1135-1153)

England screamed. He screamed and screamed. He felt his flesh tear (the hands helping it rip apart… Were they really his own?), his mind splitting in half – Matilda, Stephen, Matilda, Stephen, Matphen – he laughed. And he screamed.  
"Lapin, lapin. Vhere are you?"  
"Go away you bloody frog!" '_Help me, help me – make it stop!_'  
"But Angleterre – you are mine now, and I vish to zee you, non?"  
England screwed up his eyes, refusing to look, "Then make it stop!"  
The Frenchman looked at him, seeing, but not knowing – what was it?  
"NO! No, I don't care! Stop fighting – please!"  
The Frenchman walked away, unable to watch as the boy tore himself in two. He would help though – after-all, the Normans were French, and the Normans ruled the boy. Even if Normans were more like Vikings than Frenchmen... The wife of Stephen… She was French, too. And the husband of Matilda was. Oh, but who to pick… Stephen. No country should be ruled by a woman, after-all. But he would not visit the boy again. Not for a long time.

8th April, 1141, Empress Matilda elected Queen.  
Matilda wife of Stephen arrived later that year, where they met to fight at Winchester. Still England screamed, mind tearing into two. Christmas and Stephen ruled again. But still the fought, fought, fought… 1148, Gloucester died. 1153, Eustace only son of Stephen died.

On 6th November 1153, he breaths again – after 18 years of screaming, what else could he do? Matilda backs down, but her son will inherit – after all this war, England could not care less. Plantagent – people didn't like them. Bloody French. But better – better than fighting. Fighting stopped – can breathe. That's nice…

Pain will end, when people learn to tolerate each other.

Hundred Years War

"Come on!" England's leader shouted, "We can wipe this Frenchman from the face of the planet!"  
Except, he was shouting in French, not English.  
England screamed into battle, running at full pelt. He would break free of the frog, once and for all! He would! He really would!

"Honestly, Mon petite lapin," France jeered from across the field, "You'll never win."

And the Frenchman was correct. By the time the war was over, almost all of England's lands in France were taken.  
But really, it was much more than that: France had fought against him, kicked him out of his lands; England was his own nation once more. Even if the Frenchman did little to actually 'rule' him.

It only took 300 years.

Wars of the Roses

The second of the proper English civil wars – those after unity, that is. Lancaster, York… By far the worst day was Palm Sunday , . The Battle of Towton. The highest percentage of British blood ever spilt at once – and yes, that includes two world wars – and on his own soil, as well.  
He locked himself in his room the entire time, supporting neither team, feeling weak – oh, so weak. He'd had battles on his homeland before, and none were pleasant. With his own people fighting… The pain made him loose his mind, and not even the faeries could find it for him. He screamed – screamed so hard. Like the first time… So like the first but screamed harder. Would wake up on a morning, coated in blood, and staring at himself – eyes different colours, one red, one white – Lancaster, York – pretty, deadly, scream.  
He'd toss and turn and wish for once that that BLOODY FROG WOULD JUST COME AND VISIT, but he never came – nobody to break it, to stop the pain. Cry, scream, cry, scream, cry…

It ended when Henry Tudor married Elizabeth of York. And that wedding lead to one of the greatest things ever to happen to England – Elizabeth Tudor.

The Tudors

But before her came Henry VIII – Catholic, Protestant – don't like my wife, I'll kill her – get another. Like this one – she died. Six wives, one man. Bad man. Fat man. England didn't like him. There was nothing he could do.

Then Edward VI – lovely, wonderful boy. Died before he claimed the throne for himself – he was 16. Lots of learning, lots of religion. Nothing like his father. Good, Anglican boy.

He died – Now Elizabeth, or Mary? Mary's older, but Elizabeth's protestant… Fighting again.  
Lady Jane Grey takes the throne. 15 years old, beautiful, clever, sensitive, intelligent Lady Jane Grey. Queen for nine days. Killed her for it – not her fault, everyone said. Still killed her. England thinks it was wrong – lock her up, but not die – they made her, forced her – she had no choice – she hated the idea, fainted at it.  
But somebody had to take the blame.

Then Mary – Bloody Mary. Catholic. Married to a Spanish man. Damn Spain. Go away, git. Lots of protests, but she made them go away – bloody, clever, Mary I. Make the peasants go away with pretty words – 'I love you as a mother loves her child'. If you loved me, why did you hurt me? England would cry as his people burnt. She thought she was saving their souls… Maybe she should be forgiven.  
Then Mary died, too – no children; all stillborn. Now people think she had cancer. Probably did, when he thinks of the symptoms: 'Mary, Mary quite contrary, how does your garden grow? With silver bells, and cockle shells, and pretty maids all in a row, a row, and pretty maids all in a row'. It's a children's nursery rhyme, but the pretty maids are all dead. All dead babies.

Maybe it was God's revenge for the death of his children?

If so, England doesn't knwo what to think, any more.

Age of Elizabeth

Alright, her father was a big of a pig, but that mattered not. She married her country, she said. England would disagree, but after years of pig-headed rulers, and wars, and riots… He could see. See again. The faerie queen, the virgin queen… England thinks she was beautiful, but she was never his wife – no, married to her duty, not her country, was she.

Armada – take that, Spanish git. We'll show you! We showed you!

Sailing the high seas, on Tudor warships, pirate ships, exploring the world… And yet, still everyone hated him, frowned upon him: 'he's getting to powerful', 'KILL HIM!'

'Go away, England. I don't want you here.'…

English Civil War

England could never remember much about the civil war. However, France takes great delight in reminding him how he lost his mind, if only for nine years. All he could really remember was the pain – brothers fighting each other, fathers fighting their sons, wives betraying their husbands… 100,000 people died , probably more even.  
But he does remember them killing the king. England was the first European country to execute its king, and have an elected leader.

After that, he remembers nothing – nothing but hands, and words in languages prettier than his own. He wakes up in France; the man has gone out, his deposed prince greets him (in French. Why? WHY?) and goes out to fight again – revenge for his father, take back the land… Fool. Nothing would come of it – the boy had lost. Wait, all things come to an end, he told him. The boy would understand, and returned to wait with him.  
And France would wrap his wounds when either of them hurt themselves – rip old wounds open in the madness, cut on glass, fighting with him… Pretty words, pretty man, always wrapped them. With a hard comment, but pretty words. And years later, he would return the favour – only I have the right to destroy you – nobody else.  
And each time, they would laugh, cry, live and die.

Because all things – good and bad – come to an end. (and nations cannot stay dead long enough for them not to see all the things they love come to an end)

Oliver Cromwell, Lord Protector

Oliver Cromwell was his name. A born leader, and a puritan. He banned Christmas, the theatre, getting drunk… All valuable English pastimes. But, as he ruled, he found himself more and more like a king – the people weren't prepared for a democracy.  
When Oliver died, the title passed to his son. His son didn't want it, and was quite happy to hand over the power to Charles II, the executed monarch's son.

Charles and England came back from France – England much the worse for wear, the boy-no, man, king - smiling. Always smiling. More in touch with the people, too.

"Welcome back, Charlie."

Restoration of the Monarchy, and the Reign of Charles II

Charles II came, and the people rejoiced. England too, in his own, unique way. The king held many mistresses as well as wives, but the people cared not, and so did not England. After years of strict, puritan rule, they were simply glad to have entertainment back.

He was a popular king, with a troubled reign. The great fire of London, the plague… Both in the space of 2 years. Some said that the fire killed the rats. It was starting to fizzle out anyway. One stupid baker, England remembers, and his entire capital burnt to the ground. He remembers, oh-so-clearly, the pain. The screaming, screaming… He was always screaming, it seemed.  
Worse even than the Blitz – he was still recovering from the plague, after all. Few people died, but to have your capital burn away in one night… It burnt, and the scars still linger.  
But even then, they loved their new king.

England could never say he blamed them.

America

1607 – The year America became English, and properly so. The year it was recognised as such. The years with America… England would always see them as bitter-sweet. They were the very best years of his life, and yet…

The blinking Yank had to go and fight for independence, didn't he? Why couldn't he be happy with what he had, see the pain, the trouble… And, even with his other colonies around him, everything was oh-so-lonely.

England threw himself into expansion, finding, taking more children. They needed him.

Or was it that he needed them?

The Scots

'NEVER claim I invaded Scotland' – that was what the post-it note said. England had placed them all over the UN meetings building. England never, ever invaded Scotland… In its entirety. After Elizabeth I died childless, the throne went to her closest living relative – James. James was Scottish, and king of Scotland. The two continued to be rules independently until 1707 and the first Act of Union. Even today, Scots are dis-proportionately represented in Government. Their powers over non-controversial legislation were given to Scottish Parliament in 1995.

And England was glad that he'd gone.

The Dutch

1699 was when William and Mary, a Dutch couple, took the throne from James II. To say that England was impressed is under-stating matters again.

The Irish

The 1802 Act of Union added Ireland to Great Britain, making the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. It happily stayed that way – we use happily in a very colloquial way here – until 1921, when Ireland split. The South became its own country, the North stayed in the UK.

The have powers of their own, too.

The Welsh

England admits that he invaded Wales in 1277, Edward II by his side. In the 1500s, the two were joined politically, and remain similar to this day, ignoring the language difference, the parliament… Maybe they're not one and a same. Heck, England isn't either – he should know.

But, who knows anything anymore?

The British Empire

'The sun never sets on the British Empire…', they said. He ruled the world – a quarter of the population. He stood tall, the world on its knees under his feet. But now they feared him… Still, no friendship; even his colonies – his children – were oh-so-afraid. '… Because God would not trust and Englishman in the dark.' They whispered after the first part.

The 1930s… One World War was over, the next was just beginning, and the British Empire was at its peak. The largest world power was England – nobody else had ever, has ever, beaten him in this. The 30s was when he ruled everywhere, but his grip was slipping. As he felt people pulling away, he grabbed for more, more land, praying desperately that they wouldn't leave him alone again.

He'll admit it, as long as nobody's listening. The things he did to his Empire – a lot of them were wrong. He'll confess it, do anything, if only they wouldn't leave… He'd given them his language, just as he had been given his by France… Okay, maybe that was a mistake, but still... He'd given them money, technology, status, democracy, attention… He just didn't want to be out on a limb once more.

In 1997, Hong Kong was returned to China. It was the last major colony of the Empire no more.

The Blitz

Night after night he screamed as his people burnt.

Night after night he screamed for it to stop.

Night after night he begged for help, mercy, to pass out – anything! – but nobody ever came to stop the pain.

But every morning he would carry on as normal, because he was England, and the English do not bend.

1973

This was the year England joined the European Common Market. And it was one of the hardest decisions of his life. He knew then that his Empire was failing, that he was great no longer… And he knew that everybody hated him still.

But, like a true Englishman, he'll hide the loneliness under layers and layers of half-truths and manners and tea drinking and etiquette and harsh words.

2012

England still does not trust people – that much is easy to tell. But this year, he will host the 'greatest Show on Earth'. Even if some idiot in power's messed up ticket sales. And, for a few weeks, he will be the centre of the world once more.

But he doesn't really know if he wants to any more. He feels old – like a man condemned to watch the children, the family, he once loved turn against him – and destroy themselves in the process. He's far older than people realise… 500,000BC was when the first hominids have been traced to on his land. Even if he was not born until later, and not representative of the whole land until the Romans came – then he wasn't, then he was again. And just like Japan, he feels his age. Now that Imperialism has died, and his Empire gone.

Even after all these years, his people still call England the 'mother land', their country as a 'she'. And to think, it was only supposed to be a rude joke from France. He'd had the world, but held it too tightly, just like everyone else… But, he tells himself, at least I let my Empire go – only half of them hate me: Look, Canada still has my Queen, and Jamaica and… And the list carried on. Commonwealth, it is called. England calls it the last of his sanity. I held it too tightly, I broke its wings, but I healed those wings, and I let it go. And some of them came back.  
But it still hurt… Always hurt. And he'd been hurt by so many people, but he gave everyone – those whom he hurt, those whom hurt him, those for whom the hurt was mutual (because everyone hurts or is hurt by everyone in this world) – only one thing the same. And that was his language. All 540,000 words of it. And it is with that language that the world still operates.

And maybe, just maybe, that language is the saving grace for the Englishman whom hates his emotions. Because as much as he gave them his language, they have given him elements of their's. So today, the day of England – not the UK, England - he will stand tall, and never bend. They say to be as the grass, so that you will stand tall once the winds are over. But the winds will never blow over, so instead he will be like the English Oak – his tree. He will stand tall until the day he is forcibly uprooted. And even then, he'll put up a fight.

There are a few certainties in England's life: That the French are the spawn of the devil; the Italians are the root of all evil; that everyone is out to get you – you can trust nobody (not even yourself) – and they will use your emotions against you; And that no matter how many times something happens, it still hurts.

'_Forgiveness is the scent of the violet left on the foot that has crushed it.'_

* * *

**A.N.: so, this isn't very well written, but I really need to get back into the swing of things, and currently I'm babysitting without internet. Now 10:50 my time (this'll not be posted for a while), and she went to bed at 9:00. And her parents left at 8:00. This is written for two reasons – firstly, I found the quote at the end in my Mum's sewing patterns, and really wanted to use it in regard to the English language spreading with the empire. Secondly, it really, REALLY annoys me when people screw up English history. Invading Scotland and never been invaded are my pet hates. This is not perfect – there are big events missing, and it is all from one viewpoint and bias. However, it addresses some of them. Oh, and badly written. Did I remember that one?  
As for the tribes, I apologise for the OCs, but it worked better this way. Trust me. And as for Brigantine… It sounds like Britain. Sort of. But I picked that one anyway, so there. Cadveani is mine.  
Also, England is not Britain, or the UK. England is the area of Britain which has no devolved powers from central government, 'kay? Historically it was a separate country, has its own football team and we consider the sour areas – England, Wales, Northern Ireland and Scotland as separate countries, even if internationally we are one.  
Oh, and hominids refers to Boxgrove, which was dated to 500,000 BC by the vole clock – I study A-level archaeology, so, if you want to know more, just let me know. Other subjects are science based, but I studied history last year (A level it's all foreign and more like politics, really. How Chinese Communism works for the entire first year). It kinda implies that England has been around that long, reading it again – that's not the intention, but it's still an old country.  
And I kinda want to write a less bitty story based around the Anarchy and the Civil war… Maybe also other bits.  
This is really, really basic history for you:**

**Celts**

**54BC – first Roman raids**

**+1 century – full invasion**

**Left 5****th**** century**

**3****rd****-7****th**** Angles, Saxons, Jutes (Germans)**

**1066 – Norman and Plantagenet kings. Close to France.**

**1135-1153 – Anarchy (or, 1****st**** Civil war)**

**1277 – Wales conquered by Edward 2**

**16****th**** century – joined politically**

**1485-1603 – Tudors. Strong navy.**

**1603 – James 2. Scot join**

**North America declared British - 1607**

**Civil war – 1642-51 (all three parts, in my head the 3****rd****)**

**Cromwell**

**Restoration of monarchy 1660.**

**1699 – William and Mary. Dutch invaded from James 2****nd**

**1707 – Act of union – Scots legally joined**

**1802 – United Kingdom formed (N. Ireland too. Well, all Ireland at this point).**

**1921 – Ireland split**

**1930s – British Empire at largest. ¼ world population.**

**1973 – Joined EU common Market**

**1995 – Scots get own powers**

**1997 – Hong Kong returned – last major colony**


End file.
